


War Efforts

by PrincessDianaArtemis



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley's Century-Long Nap (Good Omens), Curvy Aziraphale, F/M, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Former Model Crowley, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Alberto Vargas, Lonely Aziraphale (Good Omens), Lust-addled Crowley, M/M, Model Aziraphale (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Pinup Model Aziraphale, Pinups, Pre-Cold Opening, Soldier Crowley, Thick Aziraphale, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29402526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessDianaArtemis/pseuds/PrincessDianaArtemis
Summary: Aziraphale's been told to stay away from the frontlines during this Second World War, so she finds another way to do her part. In the foxholes, Crowley gets an eye-full and wants a little more.Contribution for the Pin Me Up Zine
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) & Other(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43
Collections: Pin Me Up Zine





	War Efforts

As the second great war started, Aziraphale readied to do her part as she had the last time - changing corporation to infiltrate the nurses in a different way and heal as many of the wounded as possible. Something told her from the way that War looked, that this was going to be worse. 

But her plans were derailed by the pearly-white smile of an Archangel.

“Change of plans, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, perching his rear on a table in the bookshop. “We can’t have so many people healed and you get - overzealous. Especially with this corporation,” He took a moment to scan over her body. “A  _ fantastic  _ look for you, by the way. We simply think it best you keep your war effort closer to -  _ here. _ ”

Aziraphale pouted and argued that she was needed on the frontlines, but he would have nothing of it and she was forced to agree to his conditions.

-

“It’s just not fair,” she said, smoothing the tight trousers over her thighs. “I should be out there  _ healing _ , protecting humans. Not…sitting idly.” 

She drummed her nails against the counter, then gave a tired sigh, “Buck up, Aziraphale. Go - do something fun.”

Loneliness settled in her bones as she made her way to St. James, same as there’d been for half a century since her disagreement with Crowley. She worried that he’d done something foolish to try to acquire holy water. Worse, she was afraid he  _ had _ gotten his hands on the damning substance and she hadn’t searched for his essence on Earth in fear of not being able to find it.

Still, Aziraphale walked the length of the duck pond and hoped that she would cross paths with her dear adversary. 

“Miss, I don’t mean to intrude,” called a young man, interrupting her thoughts of devil-red hair and the throwing of seeds to the ducks. “Do you have a moment?”

Aziraphale glanced over to him, took in his sincere and open expression, and nodded her assent. He beamed and settled alongside her.

“I’m sorry that I just came up to you like this, but - y’see I’m an artist and I’ve been commissioned to do some work for the frontline soldiers - art to keep them motivated,” he said, rubbing his forearm nervously, “and - I think I found my inspiration in _ you _ .”

She turned to take a good look at him, the sketchbook in his hand with pages sticking out of half-drawn figures, and was reminded of her dear Michelangelo. 

“My dear boy, I’m flattered,” she said, flustered. “But I’m sure you can find a better muse than this old fuddy-duddy.”

He shook his head, “Absolutely not. You are the perfect form and light to get our boys through their times out on the battlefield. Think of it as,” he thought for a moment, then lit up again, “as doing your part in the war effort.”

His choice of words had her freeze mid-throw, tucking her hand with the grains against her ample chest, “My…part in the war effort?”

“Of course. I know it’s a silly thing to think of, but this is gonna be a real morale boost. So, what do you say? Would you be willing to model for me?”

She bit down on her lip, hesitance in her hazel eyes for a second, then she nodded, “Yes, alright. I’ll be your model. Just…just what exactly would you like me to do?”

“Don’t worry, Miss,” said the man, smiling. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

-

Crowley had only been awake for a few weeks when he’d received his orders from down under telling him to change his corporation and do some of his style of tempting - that there was a whole new medium to use to his advantage.

It’s how he -  _ she  _ \- had found herself draped along surfaces, covering up her dusty nipples and lower parts with strategically placed hands, hats, or pillows and then circulated around Europe for consumption. And while she loved the lace and satin of the lingerie they dressed her in, she felt grimy as she saw men salivating over her image. 

As War began her newest tirade over the continent, Hell suggested he dress up again to inspire lust and envy through the ranks. Crowley refused, claiming his strength was better suited among the soldiers inspiring betrayal and cowardness. 

It had nothing to do with the hope settled in his ribcage that he’d cross paths with Aziraphale among needing humans.

Beelzebub agreed and gave the job of pinups to bored succubi while he was outfitted in a soldier’s uniform and sent to the frontlines. Among the blood and exhaustion of these humans, Crowley wished to catch a glimpse of angelic light willing away the darkness of war - but it had been weeks and there was no sign of Aziraphale.

“Anthony, it’s mail-day,” one of the boys said, beaming. 

He snorted, bumping shoulders with him, “You know I don’t get anything, Bernie.”

The boy shrugged, “Who knows, you might get something today.”

Around them, the boys plucked letters from mothers and lovers from the hands of their superiors and held them close. Crowley brushed quiet blessings over the sadness of the youth to keep their hopes up. 

“Is that another Miss Fell picture?” he heard one of the men say, a sharp jolt of lust piquing Crowley’s interest. “I envy Vargas for getting to see  _ her _ in skivvies.”

The crowd of boys circled one - Jeremy - and passed the palm sized picture around. As he passed, Crowley chuckled at the blood-rush of barely pubescent boys looking at naughty pictures, then stopped at the flash of a familiar pair of hazel eyes. 

“Oi, lemme see that,” he said, snatching the picture, snarling as their argument began at their throats. “Get away or you’ll find out why they call me the Serpent, boys.”

With that threat, they scurried off and Crowley turned his attention to the picture before him. It’d been a while since his pinup days, but he recognized the art and, more importantly, the model.

The woman was leaning forward, hazel eyes focused on her audience as her white curls framed her face. She held black, sheer lace clutched against her chest and the saucy side-boob peeking from under her arms. The fabric fell down over the curve of her plush and naked stomach and rear, highlighting the fat and muscle of thighs and legs through the gauzy black. 

It was Aziraphale, there was no doubt in his mind, from the curve of her pouting lips to the color of celestial hazel. He brought up shaking fingers to trace down the length of her back - stopping as it curved lower and then his eyes widened. 

“There are more,” he whispered, head turning to the scattered crowd of boys. “Oi, you lot, these Miss Fell pictures - who has ‘em?”

-

The black satin was tight against the folds of her stomach and her arms covered her exposed breasts.

“Dear, are you sure this is how the costume goes?” asked Aziraphale, watching Alberto fiddling with the lighting. “It seems like there’s a part missing.”

“Hmm?” Alberto said, looking at her then away. “Nope, they want top uncovered and perky. It’ll be alright, Miss Fell. I promise. You’re just a star and they want more. They want you to imitate an older piece as well.”

Aziraphale tilted her head, “If - if you’re sure.”

Alberto positioned her in the pose he wanted and began sketching while his assistant came up to her with a print. Aziraphale’s breath caught in her throat as she saw familiar red waves pinned back by little black bows. Gauzy black lingerie covered her back and black lace tightening her arse, highlighting and lifting, red flowers held in her hand.

“A-Alberto, who - ”

“They called her ‘the Crow’ because she usually modeled in black. She did a few more risque ones - like the one you’re doing now,” he said. “But then she disappeared. I’ll show you a few more. I want something similar for your next one.” 

Aziraphale swallowed and moved back into her pose, “Yes - but only if I can have a few of this Crow’s work - for research purposes, of course.”

The artist laughed and eyed her with a mocking smirk, “Of course, Miss Fell. For research.”

-

Crowley shivered with delight at the array of art before him. It had taken him a few weeks, but he had every known version of Miss Fell’s pinups and, with a  _ minor  _ miracle to set the other copies on spontaneous fire, was now the owner of the  _ only  _ copies of the art.

Aziraphale had been doing a wide range of modeling, each piece a little more revealing than the next - black lace lingerie covering her pale skin, laying back on a couch or pile of pillows, blue or feathered nighties and her nipples peeking through the sheer fabric. 

His favorite was of her seated and facing front, yellow nightie tied around her neck and her right eye covered by a curtain of curls, but other than the transparent cover, she was completely nude, right leg the only thing hiding her Effort.

Embarrassed as he was to admit, he’d whisked away for a few nights after finding them all to fully enjoy the sight of the angel. Crowley devoured every angle, curve, and peek of flesh that night until he’d had no other choice but to relieve himself.

A sad and pitiful wank later, he’d miracled all the images away and returned to the frontlines, avoiding the sly looks from the boys he’d interrogated and shaken down for Aziraphale’s pictures, and readied himself for the next onslaught of War’s design.

“Hey, Anthony?” Bernie again, punctual to a fault. “I know you say you don’t get mail but - there’s something for you today. I think - I think it’s a letter from a lady friend.”

Crowley turned a frown on him, “I have no friends - lady or otherwise. Give it.”

Creamy stationary with curled writing addressed it to him, and a quick flick of his tongue revealed the scent of worn leather and paper and without checking the return address, knew exactly who sent it. 

He plucked the gold wax seal -  _ really  _ \- and slid out the paper that’d rested in Aziraphale’s hands not long ago. The note was short and simple: saying she was relieved to sense him still on Earth (this part had been scratched out), congratulating him on his temptations during the first war, and declaring that she’d sent a little surprise.

Long, trembling fingers reached into the envelope to pull out the prints and almost discorporated on sight. One had Aziraphale’s full, peaked nipples on display, curls and sinful black satin framing her deliciously -  _ a limited edition print just for you, my dear _ \- and then a familiar pinup with its facsimile.  _ Now we’re a perfect pair, don’t you think _ ?

Crowley’s ego took a dive as his Effort gave a hearty twitch at the simple sight of the pale back and arse. 

_ Honestly,  _ he thought.  _ What kinda demon gets this bothered about a back? _

Back, tits, plump thighs and that arse was driving him mad, even more so when young Bernie peeked over his shoulder and gave a low whistle.

“That's one fine gal. Wait - that’s - are you  _ friends  _ with Miss Fell?” he asked, wide-eyed. “Holy hell, you  _ are _ . Wait till the guys hear about  _ this _ .”

A snap of Crowley’s fingers pinned him in place, eyes cloudy, “Bernard. You never met me. You’ve never even heard of Anthony Crowley.”

“Why?”

Crowley tucked the prints into the inside of his coat, “Because I’m getting the hell outta here and returning to my angel. Gotta put an end to it - or at least, gotta get an eyeful.”

Bernie nodded, “Lucky.”

“Damn right I am,” Crowley said and petted the boy’s head. “I’ll be sending you a few blessings kid - you’re a good one. Stay safe.”

The boy gave a sleepy chuckle, “S’ a war. No one’s safe.”

A little grimace marred Crowley’s expression, “You’re right kid. Just be as careful as possible. I’ve got an angel to keep safe.”


End file.
